


The Hall in the Back of Wayne Manor

by AlmondRose



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Children, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, happy endings, i made myself cry go me!, i want to tag this with angst but i'm not sure if it is....
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 00:57:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9468338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmondRose/pseuds/AlmondRose
Summary: "Somewhere in the Wayne Manor there is a wall of pictures, each with Bruce in a suit and one of the kids in a suit or a dress, standing in a courtroom at the end of an adoption hearing." --audreycritter





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [audreycritter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/gifts), [AutumnHobbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnHobbit/gifts).



> I read a fic from AutumnHobbit that was based on Audreycritter's idea...and I got inspired. This goes out to both of you <3

Steph finds it the second time she goes to the manor. She’s only recently found out who Batman and Robin really are, and it’s weird to be in Batman’s natural habitat. But last night, she’d been too tired to go home, so Alfred had let her stay overnight. She woke up in a downstairs guest room, and she was too curious to see what the manor was like before she left. 

 

So she was wandering, and she peeked inside a hallway, and here she is. The hallway is in the back, dimly lit, and it seems like it’s trying to be inconspicuous. So of course, she sneaks down it. It may be dim, but she can still see the two big pictures on the wall. 

 

One of Bruce Wayne--Batman--looking much younger, with a wildly huge grin on his face. He’s holding a boy in his arms, a boy with an even bigger smile. Both are in matching suits, and Bruce’s is rumpled, but he doesn’t seem to care. Steph steps closer, and the boy is clutching papers in one hand, and she tilts her head to read them.  _ Certificate of Wardship,  _ it says, and the rest of the words are blurry, but she knows who the boy is. 

  
Dick Grayson. 

 

The first Robin. 

 

She stares at the picture for a long time, then she turns to the next one. 

 

Bruce Wayne again, older this time, with a curly haired boy. The boy’s older than Dick was, and he’s also wearing a suit, this time with a little bowtie. Bruce isn’t holding the boy, but they’re sitting next to each other on steps, and the boy’s leaning in, ever-so-slightly, on Bruce’s shoulder. He’s clutching more papers in his hand, but they’re face down. He and Bruce are smiling, and it’s a tender picture. Steph’s heart aches. 

 

She knows Jason Todd is dead now. 

 

She takes a step back, and she looks between the pictures. She’s never seen Bruce smile like that. She wonders if he can. 

 

Before she can stay too much longer, she hears footsteps and she runs out of the hall, going to meet whoever it is before they can catch her. 

  
  
  


The next time she sees it, she’s training to be Robin and Bruce had had to leave to go and do something, and Alfred had offered to make her lunch. She agreed, and while she waited she’d wandered the halls. She found the hall again purely by accident, and had wandered in, curious. 

 

It’s the same, which somehow surprises her. Shouldn’t Tim be there, too? It looks empty, somehow, because Robin-Number-Three isn’t there. 

 

Her stomach twists unpleasantly and she realizes that these pictures were the moment of adoption. This isn’t a hall for the Robins. 

 

It’s a hall for Bruce’s kids.

  
  


HIs kids, Batman has kids. These are his children, who he raised and lost. Steph still hasn’t met Dick, but---she’s seen Jason’s grave. 

 

She looks away, because suddenly, looking at the pictures seem like an invasion of privacy. She smoothes her red skirt nervously, and she stares down at the Robin costume she’s still wearing. A strange urge to rip it off rises in her. No, she’s Robin and she’s earned it. 

 

_ But isn’t it a role for his kids?  _ her mind whispers, and she smothers the thought, thinking of Tim.  _ Is Tim not his son, though? _ her mind points out, unhelpfully. 

 

“No,” she whispers. “He’s not. Shut up.” And she leaves the hall, looking back uncomfortably. 

  
  
  


The next time she finds the hall, she’d searched it out. She’s Batgirl, now, and Bruce is dead. She has free reign of the manor, and she’s not sure if she likes it or not. She remembers the hall, and she knows her way around better than ever, and she goes to it. She slides inside, and stays pressed against the opposite wall. 

 

In the third picture, Tim is wearing a dress shirt and pants, and he’s staring at the papers in his hand, his eyes wide in disbelief and joy. Bruce is in a suit, and his arm is around Tim’s shoulders, and he’s looking fondly at the boy. Steph bites her lip and looks away. 

 

In the fourth picture, Cass is in a dress and hugging Bruce tight. It’s taken from the side, and Steph can see the adoption papers in Cass’s hand on Bruce’s other side. The four pictures make her uncomfortable, and she looks away. There’s a table, a little end table, next to Dick’s picture. A small photograph is on it, and Steph goes over to it. She leaves the safety of the wall and picks up the picture. It’s Bruce and Babs, both of them leaning staring at a computer screen, clearly deep in discussion. 

 

They look close, she realizes, then she puts the picture down and runs her fingers through her hair. Her stomach goes tight and she feels too warm. 

 

She smothers down the beginnings of a panic attack and instead she closes her eyes and goes back to the wall. She can’t articulate why she feels so hurt--Bruce doesn’t owe her anything. He doesn’t. She has--she has a dad. 

 

_ Not a dad, a father,  _ she thinks, and she sinks to the floor. 

 

“Babs has a dad,” she whispers, and she buries her head in her knees. She’s not sure how long she stays there, trying to get her emotions under control, before she hears a small noise. She looks up long enough to see Damian, his face wide and shocked, before he runs away. 

 

Steph scrambles to her feet, feeling like an absolute jerk. Why is she so self-absorbed? His situation is much, much worse. 

 

Damian doesn’t have a picture either, and he’s the blood son. 

 

She runs out the hall, slipping on her socks against the wood floor, calling his name, but he’s gone. 

  
  
  


She doesn’t mean to find it again. But somehow, she finds herself back in the hall. Bruce is alive again, and there’s two more pictures on the wall. 

 

The one of Babs was inserted between Dick and Jason, and there’s a new one on the end, just after Cass’s. 

 

Damian, in a chair, and Bruce, hovering above him, both wearing identical expressions, the one that means you’re being analyzed for your weaknesses. At the angle it’s at, Steph can’t tell if it’s posed or candid. 

 

She hopes it’s candid. 

 

She looks back at the Babs picture, and she wonders how Commissioner Gordon would react if he saw this picture, on the wall with Bruce’s kids. She wonders how Arthur Brown would react if he saw  _ her  _ picture with the Wayne kids, and she decides she doesn’t care, since it’s clearly impossible. 

 

(But the squeezing in her heart says that she clearly does care a little.)

  
  


She’s not sure how long she stands there, her gaze unfocused, staring at the space between Babs and Jason’s pictures. She’s not sure how long she stares at the wall she’s not included in, the wall of all the Batgirls and Robins and not her. 

 

She does notice when she hears a small, embarrassed noise, and she turns to see Bruce himself, staring at her. She can’t meet his eyes, and she looks away quickly. He walks towards her, and she doesn’t mean to shrink away, but she does. He flinches, and she runs, embarrassed beyond belief. 

  
  


She tries to forget about the incident, and she’s laying on a guest bed a few months later, nursing a headache, when she hears the door open. 

 

“Not in the mood,” she says, because she doesn’t really care who it is. Alfred knocks before opening doors, and everyone else can leave her alone. 

 

“Stephanie.” Bruce’s voice surprises her. 

 

“What?” she groans, flinging her hand over her eyes. 

 

“Come with me,” he says, and she groans louder. “Please,” he says, quietly, and she sits up abruptly. He just said  _ please,  _ it must be important. 

 

“Fine,” she says. “But this better end with some Tylenol.” His mouth twitches, and she’s not sure if he’s suppressing a frown or a smile. When it comes to her, it’s usually the former. She follows him anyway. 

 

She doesn’t really pay attention to where they’re going until they’re there. When she sees the familiar hall, she freezes. Bruce pushes her in, gently, and she turns to glare at him. 

  
She can’t read the expression on his face, but she turns to look, anyway. 

 

The first thing she notices is the picture after Damian’s. Duke looks dapper and Bruce impeccable as ever, and Duke’s holding the adoption papers and they’re smiling at each other. 

 

Steph feels a sharp pang of hurt stab through her, then her eyes betray her heart and scan the rest of the pictures. And she has to do a double take. 

  
  


In between Jason and Tim, there’s a new picture, and this one makes her forget her headache. 

 

A young Steph--about Robin era, she’d guess--sleeping. Leaning on Bruce’s shoulder. He has a laptop on his lab, and he’s looking away to smile fondly down at Steph. His laptop screen is tilted towards the camera, and she can see Cluemaster’s file pulled up on the screen. 

 

Steph’s heart catches in her throat, and her hands fly to her mouth. 

 

“That picture’s been my lockscreen for the last four years,” Bruce says idly, and she feels her eyes well up. “I’m sorry it took so long.” She swallows back the tears, and turns to him. He looks oddly open, afraid. Waiting for her approval, she realizes, and she takes a step towards him. Then she’s hugging him, and she remembers slapping him, and she doesn’t regret it, but the hug is pretty nice. 

 

And if she whispers, “Thanks, Dad,” into his sweater--just this once--nobody would know but them. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed! comments/kudos always welcome!


End file.
